


Actions/Words

by powerandpathos



Series: 19 Days After-Shots [4]
Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Drabble, M/M, use your words boys, what happens after update 188
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powerandpathos/pseuds/powerandpathos
Summary: A (very short) vignette of Guan Shan and He Tian’s interaction directly after 188 (the “jacket” chapter).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my Tumblr: http://thefearofthetruth.tumblr.com/post/154474042014/actionswords

‘Next time don’t force yourself to deal with things alone.’

 _Next time?_ He Tian asked himself. Assuming there would be a next time. Assuming that Guan Shan would turn to him for help.

He was moving away, and could feel that Guan Shan was not. The corridor had the heavy silence of a held breath, trying to keep itself swallowed.

 _Don’t cry,_ he wanted to tell him. His brother would have said it was weak. He Tian wasn’t sure he would have said the same. He Tian forced himself to keep going—he wouldn’t have cried, but he wouldn’t have wanted Guan Shan to see it. Red-haired and eyes promising a slaughter. That look would have been too much.

‘She Li knows where I live.’

He Tian stopped.

The words were whisper-quiet, and tentative. They were the words of someone who didn’t mind if they went unheard, but He Tian thought that was stupid—as if he wasn’t listening, constantly, hanging on the reaction. As if this wasn’t what it was all about; seeing how Guan Shan reacted to _him._

‘He won’t go there. I made myself clear.’

‘You don’t know him.’

He Tian turned. Guan Shan was staring at the floor. For a second, He Tian had forgotten that he was wearing his jacket, and the sight of it hit him like a freight train. It was better in real life.

‘I don’t know him,’ said He Tian. ‘But no one’s that difficult to understand.’

‘Do you understand me?’

He Tian swallowed. ‘I’m—trying to.’

Guan Shan nodded. There was a wet mark on his cheek, a tear, shed, unbidden. He Tian watched him brush it away with the back of his knuckles, and the jacket slipped slightly from his shoulders.

He had to stop himself from moving. He had to wait and watch as Guan Shan pulled it back on, and slipped his hands through the arms. The sleeves were too long. His throat looked pale, skin soft against the fabric.

 _Does it smell like me?_ he wanted to ask. _Do you want it to feel like me?_

Guan Shan’s look was almost a challenge when he finally looked at He Tian, and He Tian felt the pull of it, the swell inside him of wanting to rise to it—to match it and beat it. Except the challenge was a false thing, and He Tian recognised it for the self-preservation that it was.

The tear track was still drying.

‘Don’t cry,’ he muttered. _Please._ ‘I hate it when you—do that, I—’

A muscle jumped in Guan Shan’s jaw. ‘Sorry I’m not as insentient as you,’ he said thickly.

‘That’s not what I mean. When you’re hurt I want to—hurt something. With She Li, I…’

It was difficult to get the words out. It was difficult to ever say what he meant. His brother had taught him the value of it: that actions spoke louder than words. It was easier to raise a fist than to have a conversation. One made sense where the other, most of the time, didn’t. Blood and caved-in bone wasn’t difficult to understand.

‘You said you’d hit me if I didn’t wear your jacket,’ said Guan Shan. ‘You’re the one that hurts me.’

He Tian ran a hand through his hair, fingers tight, strands pulling sharply away from his scalp. His hand was throbbing. He could feel his jaw swelling and bruising.

‘That was a mistake,’ he said. The words fell limp between them.

Guan Shan’s eyes were burning.

‘Mistake,’ said Guan Shan. ‘ _That’s_ a word.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you even— _see_ how fucked up you are sometimes?’

‘After,’ said He Tian, admitting it freely. He wondered if Guan Shan had noticed that, for all his faults, he wasn’t a liar. He wanted him to notice that there was something in him worth noticing—for the right reasons. ‘When it’s too late.’

Guan Shan pulled his lower lip between his teeth, and his face turned away through a flush that He Tian wanted to see to completion.

‘I don’t know how—I’ve never been good at saying sorry.’

He half-hoped that would be good enough—that Guan Shan would take that attempt for what it was, a plea, an olive branch in a trembling grip. _Let this be enough._

But Guan Shan wasn’t easy. He never made things easy. He quirked an eyebrow, pressed his lips firm together. It was goading, the lazy yawn of a tiger showing its teeth. He said, ‘Maybe you should try.’

He Tian shifted. ‘Now?’

‘I mean,’ said Guan Shan. He seemed to be quietly revelling in whatever look was on He Tian’s face, darkly satisfied with He Tian’s inability to give _this_ kind of truth. He Tian didn’t think he blamed him. ‘Whenever you’re _ready_.’

‘Do you think saying it will make it all better? Words are useless.’

‘Because all you’ve ever known is action. And I don’t know who—who _taught_ you that that’s all there is, but I can promise you it isn’t.’

‘Promise?’

Guan Shan just looked at him. ‘One day, you’re going to realise that you can’t punch your way out of something. You’re going to wish you learnt.’

The thing about Guan Shan, was that he seemed to put sound and truth to things that He Tian already knew. He knew how to fit a tongue and bulky teeth around apology and syntax. He knew his vocal chords and he knew timbre of a voice, the right inflection of tone, and He Tian wondered who had taught him that.

The difference between them was that He Tian swung fists because it was all he knew, and Guan Shan did it because he was hiding the way he knew words. He Tian had the sudden desire of wishing they could somehow join the two together—join them both together— but that was the coward’s way out. He needed to know both, entirely on his own. That was strength.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, wondering if it was going to make him feel strong.

‘What for?’ Guan Shan’s voice was flat.

The breath He Tian let in was shallow and cold, it felt spiked with shards of ice as it reached his lungs. ‘For—what I—doing what you didn’t want.’

Guan Shan took a step forward. The corridor was long, and empty, and Guan Shan was smaller, but he seemed to take up so much space.

‘What didn’t I want, He Tian?’

He Tian felt like he was breathing him in.

‘You didn’t want me to kiss you.’

If He Tian reached an arm out, his hand might have brushed the fabric of his jacket, laying over Guan Shan’s skin. Warming it.

‘Didn’t I?’ said Guan Shan.

Ice became flame, and He Tian felt like he was choking on it, throat burnt raw. His heart was pounding in it, each beat a too-hard, too-heavy pressure on a wound that wasn’t being given a chance to heal.

‘I—’

‘Don’t assume,’ said Guan Shan. ‘You never asked me.’

‘Did you want me to kiss you?’ he asked. There was too much truth, swirling around them like the fractured light of an oil spill.

‘No.’ And then, ‘But I might have. If it had been different.’

He Tian felt his eyes go heavy; he saw Guan Shan’s eyes flicker to his lips, the slip of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. And then back to coal-dark eyes that couldn’t stop taking Guan Shan in.

‘Don’t presume,’ said Guan Shan. He looked like he was going to step back, and He Tian wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t pull on the too-long sleeve of his jacket, slip a finger against his wrist, keep him there with a touch and a pressure that was so light as to not even exist. He knew, darkly, that it would be enough to keep Guan Shan in place. That was all it would take, and it was a thrill.

For all Guan Shan, right now, had his words and his questions and his requests disguised as demands—for all he made it seem like he was holding this on his own, controlled, He Tian knew it would only take a touch.

He hated that he knew that, but, also, he did not.

Some truths were dangerous.

‘He Tian.’

‘Guan Shan.’

A quiet pause, and He Tian waited. Guan Shan said, ‘Did you mean what you said?’

‘That depends,’ said He Tian, steady, ‘on what I said.’

He could feel the cut on his neck itching. He pressed his palms into fists. _I hate weaklings._

‘When you asked if I wanted you to walk me home.’

He Tian blinked. ‘When I—’ He broke himself off, and stared.

He knew what his brother would have said—that people needed to learn how to be strong. He wondered if he would have hated Guan Shan for his failures, or if he would have admired him for his strengths. He realised that it didn’t matter. A scar on his neck didn’t turn him into his brother.

He Tian said, mouth tugging up at the corners, ‘Let me grab a coat.’

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my Tumblr: http://thefearofthetruth.tumblr.com/post/154474042014/actionswords
> 
> Please give kudos if you enjoyed, or show some love on the original post~! Thank you!


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